


troubled times are at an end (and they're waiting to hear our song)

by cassiopeiakaleidoscope



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War II, Slow Burn, but hey if the shoe fits why not, mostly juke but there is still a healthy serving of willex and a pinch of flarrie, my mind really went "JATP but make it a swing band", overcoming trauma and grief through the power of music and friendship, theres a lil bit of a lalex vibe at the beginning which was unintentional
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiopeiakaleidoscope/pseuds/cassiopeiakaleidoscope
Summary: “See, there’s this radio competition," Luke says. "A ‘Tribute to the Troops’ songwriting contest. The winner’ll be featured in some big picture. And I’ve been trying to get my name out there, you know? Give my music an audience. I figure, what better way to do that than by winning a nationwide contest and getting my face in a Hollywood film?”“You’ve certainly got the stubborn ambition to make it to Hollywood, I’ll give you that,” Alex mutters.(Or, the Bandstand AU that no one asked for.)
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fic in years and it's been even longer since I've posted any, so I'm a little out of practice, but I couldn't stop thinking about all of the parallels between JATP and Bandstand until I got this out of my head. There's probably not a whole lot of overlap between these two fandoms, but if you're unfamiliar with Bandstand, all you need to know is that it takes place right after WWII. If you enjoy musicals and you haven't listened to Bandstand yet, I would highly recommend it!! It's such an underrated musical that deserves more love.
> 
> Disclaimer: I worked really hard to change things up so I wasn't just copy/pasting the JATP characters into the plot of Bandstand, but there are a few lines that were from or heavily influenced by the musical.
> 
> Title is from Right This Way from (you guessed it) Bandstand.

Luke has been back home for a week, and he’s spent every minute running from club to club looking for gigs. His body aches from old wounds, and his dreams are filled with smoke and the echoes of screams, and he needs to _play_ , needs something to keep him from tipping over into the pit of despair he’s been slowly inching towards. Every time he walks through the door of a new place to talk to the owner, he turns on the charm, plasters on a winning smile and tries to forget about the never ending dread that’s settled in his stomach, but it’s always the same answer. _“We just got a new headliner, sorry.” “Our patrons want to hear the standards, not original tunes.” “The roster is already full, we’re not looking for any new acts at the moment.”_

Every time, Luke has to take a breath and push down the bitter frustration that’s been growing steadily in him all week. The endless rejection wouldn’t bother him so much if he’d been new to the scene, but he’d played all these clubs years ago. He’d been that fresh-faced seventeen-year-old that gals were swooning over, and he’s certain that he could have played circles around the cocksure kids that were filling the clubs’ calendars these days. If it hadn’t been for his four years in the trenches, Luke knows he would’ve been as big as Sinatra by now. He could have had mountains of success and acclaim, but all he got instead were miles of nightmares and a wedding gig thrown his way out of pity.

After another day of fruitless searching, Luke returns home to a dark, dusty apartment. Bobby would have laughed at the state of him. _“Don’t sweat it, kid,”_ he can hear him saying. _“What’s one week of hustling when we’ve got our whole futures ahead of us? We’re gonna make it big one day, believe you me, we just gotta wait for our moment.”_ Shaking the voice out of his head, he pours himself a glass of whiskey and promptly throws himself onto the piano bench. His fingers gently brush over the keys as he takes a sip from his tumbler. He plucks out a few notes, playing the first bars of a melody that’s been running through his head all day, but he’s too exhausted to really put his heart into it. He knows he should really be going to bed, but every time he closes his eyes, the backs of his lids are flooded with flashes of rain and mud and blood, and his own fearful cries ring in his ears. “ _Get out!”_ So Luke rubs his eyes and opts to turn on the radio to distract himself instead.

Soon enough, the steady rhythm of the music and the burn of the whiskey have calmed him enough to clear his head a little. He finds his fingers bouncing on the keys again, at first mimicking the sounds from the radio, but then returning to the melody from earlier that day. It’s a slow tune, the notes steadily flowing up and down in a melancholy fashion. It feels mournful, but there’s a hint of hope buried somewhere inside of it.

Standing up with a sudden burst of inspiration, Luke continues to hum the melody to himself as he searches for a pen to write it down. The song is incomplete and lyric-less at the moment, but it’s the bare bones of something that could become incredible.

He might not be able to book any gigs right now, but Luke knows in his heart that his music is good, that it’s worth fighting for. It’s got depth and meaning and passion. It’s _alive_ , a piece of his own heart that he’s plucked out and woven into melodies. People would connect with it, if only he had an opportunity to share it with the world.

And just then, the music that had been coming from the forgotten radio cuts to an ad. “ _NBC Radio is looking for the next great swing band to write their very own song to honor our boys in uniform. Yes, it’s “The American Songbook’s Tribute to the Troops,” brought to you by Covington Cola. A winning band from each state will compete in a nationwide broadcast, live from the Palace Theatre in New York on December 16th to determine who will appear in a spectacular new motion picture musical, and be immortalized in Hollywood history!”_

Luke perks up as soon as he hears it. This must be fate, he thinks. It’s as if this contest had been created with him in mind. What could be a better way to spread his music than to have it featured in a genuine Hollywood picture? And a great song to honor the troops… He could probably write a winner in his sleep!

He has the talent, and better than that, he has the experience to draw from. The only thing he’s missing is a band. If he really wants to go all the way, he’ll need to find a group of musicians who’ll be able to pull it off. Not just talented players and performers, but people who would understand Luke’s music. People who had really seen the war the same way he had. A song for the troops _by_ the troops. Now _that_ would be a real winner.

Now practically bouncing in his excitement, Luke grips his pen and finds a fresh sheet of paper. Before he knows it, his hand is racing to catch up with his thoughts, already pouring out lyrics and melodies. This town may think that Luke Patterson is a thing of the past, but Luke going to show them that he didn’t come home after four years in hell to take it lying down. No, sir, he’s just getting started.


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn’t take long for Luke to start gathering enough musicians to make a full band. He meets his first recruit the very next night after slipping through the back door of a popular club in the middle of town. He doesn’t have as many connections in the business as he used to, but he’s got one lead in mind that might be able to help him.

It’s only a few minutes before the club opens, and the doors will be letting in a flood of patrons any minute now. The back of the house is hectic, but even so, it doesn’t take too long for Luke to find the guy he’s looking for. He makes his way to the stage, weaving around the musicians who have already begun tuning their instruments, until he reaches the drum stand near the back.

“Hey,” he says to the guy sitting behind the kit. “You Alex Mercer?”

The drummer glances up from where he had been adjusting one of the cymbal stands and raises an eyebrow at Luke.

“Who’s asking?”

Luke jumps up onto the stand and leans forward to shake his hand. “Name’s Luke Patterson. Look, I’m trying to put a band together and I’m in need of a good drummer. Thought you might fit the bill. Did you used to play with a guy named Bobby? He told me you guys used to—“

Alex puts a hand up, stopping Luke mid-sentence. “Wait a minute, you’re here to put a band together? That’s— How did you even get in? The doors don’t open for another five minutes, and the owner doesn’t seem the type to let in some fella off the street just ‘cause he’s looking for a drummer.”

“The back door opened just fine,” Luke shrugs, ignoring the incredulous look Alex gives him. “Anyways, Bobby told me you used to play together. Said you were the best drummer he ever worked with. If you’re even half as good as what he said, well, I think I could use that kind of talent.”

Alex sputters for a moment as his mind catches up with what Luke is saying. “I— wha— Bobby? Bobby _Wilson_? I haven’t even seen the kid since high school.”

“Well, I guess you must’ve made a great impression on him then.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Listen, as flattering as it is that Bobby Wilson is singing my praises, I’m not exactly looking to join a band at the moment. I take these gigs to pay the rent, but I’m not planning on making a career out of it.”

“What, you don’t think you’re good enough to make it?” Luke flashes a challenging smile, daring Alex to prove him wrong, but Alex doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not being modest, I know I’m a great drummer. It’s just not my life’s ambition to keep tempo for a bunch of chuckleheads.”

“If you’re so good, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” Luke shrugs. “I guess not everybody’s got what it takes to make it big. Why waste your time anyways if your band’s full of jackasses, right? A good band makes all the difference, you know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look pal, I don’t really have time for this right now. If you want to talk after the set’s done, I’m all ears, but I’ve only got a minute to finish setting up.”

Luke beams at him, as if that’s the answer he’d been looking for all along. “Okay, I’ll take that. Wanted to get a chance to watch you play anyway, see if you’re really as good as the legend says.”

Alex shakes his head, but his lips twitch up in amusement. Luke flicks the cymbal Alex had been fiddling with earlier before he jumps down from the stand. 

“Catch ya later, Drummer Boy,” he says with a wink, and pretends he doesn’t see the blush rising on Alex’s cheeks as he walks away into the crowd.

*

It turns out that Bobby had not been exaggerating when he'd told Luke about Alex. Sitting at a table near the back of the club, Luke doesn’t take his eyes off of the drummer the entire performance. Alex has a way of making these beautifully complex rhythms seem simple and effortless. He holds his drumsticks as if they’re a part of him. Luke wonders if this is how other people see him when he’s sitting at the piano, if they notice how his fingers settle into the keys and make their home there. That’s certainly how it feels to Luke sometimes, as if his piano is an extension of himself. He supposes it would be strange if other people didn’t pick up on how connected Luke is with his instrument. Or maybe it’s not so strange. Perhaps the only reason he sees it in Alex is because he knows the feeling himself.

When the last song ends, Luke applauds along with the rest of the crowd before making his way to the bar. He nurses a beer while he waits for Alex to make his way over, contemplating whether he’ll have to hop up on stage again to get the guy’s attention. To his surprise, though, Alex walks up to the bar barely a minute after the band has vacated the stage.

“So,” he says after sliding onto the stool next to Luke and ordering his own drink. “What’s the big idea with this band of yours? You seem awfully eager to make this thing work. Tryin’ to impress a dame or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Luke chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “See, there’s this radio competition. A ‘Tribute to the Troops’ songwriting contest.”

“The NBC thing?”

“Exactly, yeah!” Luke nods enthusiastically. “The winner’ll be featured in some big picture. And I’ve been trying to get my name out there, you know? Give my music an audience. I figure, what better way to do that than by winning a nationwide contest and getting my face in a Hollywood film?”

“You’ve certainly got the stubborn ambition to make it to Hollywood, I’ll give you that,” Alex mutters.

“And, I mean, a band of vets, of guys who really get it? We’d be able to play something that has substance, you know? Something more than the meaningless fluff they’ve been shoving down our throats. You’re Air Force, right? You get what I’m saying?”

“Navy, actually,” Alex corrects him, turning in his seat to consider Luke. They stare at each other for a beat. It seems as if Alex might be seriously considering the offer, but a second later he shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink.

“Listen,” he sighs, “I’m sure you’re a very talented songwriter and everything, but like I said earlier, I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’m working on a law degree right now. Even if I wanted to join, I don’t exactly have the time to commit.”

“Eh, I’m sure we can make it work.” Luke waves his hand dismissively, but the smile in his eyes is genuine and encouraging. “Alex, you’re a great drummer. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to waste a gift like that.”

Alex glances at Luke with narrowed eyes and then stares into his drink as he contemplates his choice. Luke can’t help but notice how tense he looks, like there’s something huge weighing on his shoulders as he decides whether or not he should go along with him. Eventually, though, he looks back to Luke and gives him a tiny smile.

“I guess it can’t be any worse than playing with those assholes.”

Luke returns the smile and reaches out to grip Alex’s shoulder. “Trust me, Alex, you won’t regret it.”

Alex’s eyes flick to Luke’s hand on his shoulder before he clears his throat and turns away.

“So, uh…” he starts, seemingly grasping for something to say. “Wh—who else have you got? For the band, I mean. I’m guessing Bobby’ll be our sax?”

Suddenly, Luke’s blood runs cold. He hopes Alex doesn’t notice the way his breath catches in his throat for a moment.

“No. No, he, uh… he didn’t make it back.”

A shadow passes over Alex’s face. “Jesus. Sorry to hear that,” he whispers.

Luke shakes his head and clears his throat. It takes everything in him not to reach for the dog tags that are weighing so heavily around his neck.

“Yeah. So we, uh… it’s only you and me right now. We still need a few horns and a killer on bass. You know anybody who fits the bill, someone who served?”

Alex pauses a moment to think. “I know a guy. A buddy of mine, he’s Army, and he kicks it on bass. I bet he’d be willing to give this thing a shot.”

“That’s great! You know where I can find him?”

“He’s over at the Rio Lounge most nights. If you meet me there tomorrow, I’ll introduce you.”

“I’d like that,” Luke smiles gently. He finishes off his drink and stands up, extending his hand out to Alex. “I’ve got to go, but I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

Alex takes Lukes outstretched hand and shakes it. “I’ll see you then. It’s been… a pleasure meeting you, Luke Patterson.”

“Likewise, Alex Mercer,” Luke chuckles before he starts to make his way to the exit. Before he reaches the door, he turns around to see Alex watching him. The drummer lifts his glass towards Luke in a goodbye. Luke smirks and nods at him, then turns to push his way through the doorway and into the chilly evening air.


End file.
